Winter Dreaming

photo by Mr. Bear, December 2005

WINTER DREAMING

I am still forming,
I am not yet myself,
but I dream a lover to come—
someone who will know me
from the left side,
someone who will remember my eyes
from a place where people spoke differently,
someone who will call me
white moon and lotus,
the one who dances in my heart.

People now say what I do is dreaming,
and useless.
But I say winter dreaming keeps me on earth.

We ourselves are a dream of the earth.
She filled us with her mind.
And I am dreaming a life to come
as she once dreamt mine.

I have read this piece a number of times and am struck how beautifully it resonates with the winter solstice that comes tomorrow. All I can say is please keep digging through those journals… no wonder you are not writing now – you have too much past material that needs to “come to light” – I am going to include this poem in my ritual.

A poem is such a little thing (you can read this one in 90 seconds), but the journey of arriving at the final little thing is full of weirdness and surprises and, you got it, wonder. Must be the journey which keeps luring me on because if I look at poems as products, so sorry, they’re puny compared to what it took to make them. Which is pretty weird in itself.

“Winter Dreaming” literally came true seven years after I wrote it. so it has remained one of my favourites, even though it mystifies me, what happened during the writing. I inadvertently slipped between worlds, or times, or something … accidentally wandered into a parallel universe, maybe? Anyway, you’re right, the last four lines never sit still, and I don’t know why they’re so alive. But they always make me feel good.
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